Siren (stream of consciousness writing 14)

All that was left of my bed
After the storm came
Was the battered frame
Chipped from knocking
Against the reef
And the sopping mattress
Floating like skiff
In the half light
Of an August dawn
And you called to me
In song
From your place
On the rocks
Where the gulls
Eat from your hands
With soft, kissing pecks
And you laugh
As I swim over
Before waking up